Title: Optional

Text: Mrs. Morel leaned on the garden gate, looking out, and she lost herself awhile. She did not know what she thought. Except for a slight feeling of sickness, and her consciousness in the child, herself melted out like a scent into the shiny, pale air. After a time the child, too, melted away with her in the mixing-pot of moonlight, and she rested with the hills and lilies and houses, all swam together in a kind of swoon. Jeder Absatz wird ein Test sein.

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